superstitious, took it into her head to send for the parson of the
parish to pray for the recovery of her cow, which was affected with
a distemper incident to animals of that species. Not suspecting but
that he was called to visit the woman herself, or some of her family
in affliction, the pious man went forthwith, and, to his surprise, was
not only informed why he was sent for, but the good woman insisted that
he should go and see her cow before she would allow him to depart.
Unable to resist her importunities, he went to the byre, and taking
a handful of the short straw that lay beside the cow, spread it upon
her back, saying, “Poor beast, if you be no better for this, you will
be no worse.” The parson returned home, and the good woman was highly
displeased with his indifference towards her favorite cow.
It happened, soon after, that she had an opportunity to retaliate:
the parson was taken dangerously ill of an imposthume, and the woman,
hearing of it, went to return his visit. Arrived at the parson’s house,
she, in consequence of her importunities, was admitted into his
bedchamber; and, having kindly inquired after his health, went forward
to the chimney, and taking up a handful of ashes from the hearth,
scattered them over the parson, using his own words, “Poor man! if you
be no better for this, you will be no worse;” which raised such a fit
of laughter in the good man, that his imposthume broke and his cure was
effected.
For the speedy and unexpected cure before related, the uncle of Cady
gave him fifty guineas, which supplied his extravagances for one month.
His purse being empty, he took his leave of the healing art, in which
he had been so successful, and commenced robber. His first adventure
was with a captain of the guards and another gentleman, of whom he
inquired the way to Staines, as he was a stranger. They informed him
that they were going to that place, and that they would be glad of his
company. When he arrived at a convenient place, Cady shot the gentleman
through the head, and, turning to the officer, told him that “if he did
not deliver, he should share the same fate.” The other replied that
as he was a captain of the guards, Cady must fight if he expected to
get anything from him. “If you are a soldier,” cried Cady, “you ought
to obey the word of command, otherwise you know your sentence: I have
nothing to do but to tie you neck and heel.” “You are an unconscionable
rogue,” said the captain, “to demand money of me, who never owed you
any.” “Sir,” replied Cady, “there is not a man that travels the road
but owes me money, if he has any about him: therefore, as you are one
of my debtors, if you do not pay me instantly, your blood shall satisfy
my demand.” The captain exchanged several shots with Cady; but his
horse being killed under him, he surrendered his watch, a diamond ring,
and a purse of twenty guineas. William, having collected all he could,
tied the captain neck and heel, nailed the skirts of his coat to a
tree, and rode off in search of more booty.
His next encounter was with viscount Dundee, who commanded the forces
of James VII. of Scotland, and the second of England, and fell in the
battle of Killicrankie. Dundee was mounted upon horseback, attended by
two servants. Cady rode up to them at full speed, and inquired if they
did not see a man ride past with more than ordinary haste. “Yes,” he
was presently answered. “He has robbed me of twenty pounds that I was
going to pay my landlord, and I am utterly ruined!” cried Cady. The
man who had ridden by was a confederate, and had done so by express
concert. His lordship was moved with compassion, and ordered the two
footmen to pursue the robber. When the servants seemed to have got to
a sufficient distance, Cady turned upon his lordship, and robbed him
of a gold watch, a gold snuff-box, and fifty guineas. He then shot the
viscount’s horse, and rode after the footmen, whom he found about a
mile off with the supposed robber as their prisoner. These men were
surprised when Cady desired them to let him go, and laughed at them for
what they had done. They, however, refusing to part with their prey, a
scuffle ensued, and one of the footmen being slain, the other fled, and
found that his master had been dismounted and robbed.
Dundee complained of this injury at court, and a reward of two hundred
pounds was offered to any person who should apprehend either Cady or
his companion, who were both minutely described. To evade the diligent
search which he was certain this proclamation would occasion, he went
over to Flanders. As he had received a liberal education, he entered
himself of the English seminary of Douay, and, joining the fraternity
of Benedictine friars, soon acquired an extraordinary character for
learning and piety. The natural result was, that many penitents
resorted to him for confession. The rigid sanctity and ecclesiastical
duties of Cady were, however, soon found rather troublesome companions,
and he resolved to return to England, preferring his rambles upon the
highway to the devotions of the convent. But, as money was necessary
for his voyage, his invention was again set in motion.
To effect his purpose, he feigned himself sick, and, being confined
to bed, was visited by many of those who had formerly employed him as
their father-confessor. He particularly fixed his attention upon two
young women, who generally came together, and were both very rich and
very handsome. He had previously procured a brace of pistols. When
the ladies next came to him and had made their confession, he desired
them presently to attend to him. He briefly informed them that he was
greatly in want of money, and that if they did not instantly supply his
wants, he would deprive them of their lives, holding at the same time
a pistol to their breasts. He then proceeded to rifle their pockets,
where he found fifty pistoles. In addition to this, he compelled them
to make an offering of two diamond rings from their fingers; then,
binding them neck and heel, he informed the father of the convent that
he was going to walk a little in the fields, and would soon return.
It is needless to say that he returned no more to his religious
habitation, but renewed his former mode of life.
Scarcely was he arrived in England, when he met a hop merchant,
accompanied by his wife, upon Blackheath, and commanded them to stand
and deliver. The merchant made a stout resistance, firing two pistols,
but without effect; so that he was left to the mercy of the robber, who
killed their horse, and, examining their pockets, found twenty-eight
pounds upon the merchant, and half a crown upon his wife.
Cady then addressed her thus: “Is this your way of travelling?
What! carry but half a crown in your pocket when you are to meet a
gentleman-collector on the highway? I’ll assure you, madam, I shall
be even with you, therefore off with that ring from your finger.” She
begged him to spare her marriage ring, as she would not lose it for
double the value, having kept and worn it these twenty years. “You
whining old woman,” quoth William, “marriage is nothing to me;--am I
to be more favorable to you than any other woman, I’ll warrant? Give
me the ring in a moment, without any more cant, or I shall make bold
to cut off your finger for despatch, as I have served several of your
sex before.” The good woman, seeing all her entreaties vain, hastily
pulled the ring off her finger, and thrust it into her mouth. Cady then
stamped, raged, and swore that he would be even with her: and instantly
shooting her through the head, went away perfectly unmoved, while the
husband, being tied to a tree, was a spectator of this horrid barbarity.
Cady rode instantly to London, but fearing that even that great city
could not conceal the author of a crime so unparalleled, he left the
metropolis, and went to Scotland. Either his inclinations did not
lead him, or he deemed that country too poor to afford him sufficient
booty; he therefore soon returned again to England. On his road to the
capital, between Ferrybridge and Doncaster, he met with Dr. Morton, a
prebendary of Durham, well mounted; but whether meditating upon the
amount of his tithes, or the next Sabbath’s sermon, is uncertain.
Cady instantly rode up to him, and cried, “Deliver, or you are a dead
man!” The doctor, unaccustomed to such language, began to admonish him
concerning the atrocity of his conduct, and the danger that he was in,
both with respect to his body and his soul. Cady stared him in the
face with all the ferocity that he could muster, and informed him that
his remonstrances were in vain, saying, that if he did not deliver him
what he had, he should speedily send him out of the world. “But then,”
added Cady, “that is nothing, because all the gentlemen of your cloth
are prepared for death. What, you unreasonable, you unmannerly dog!”
continued he, in a rage, unable to discover the doctor’s cash, “what do
you mean, to meet a man in the midst of his journey, without bringing
him any money to pay his charges?” For the doctor had taken care to
hide his money in a hedge, so that Cady, upon examining him, found his
pockets completely empty. The ruffian, convinced that a man of his
appearance could not travel without money, with dreadful imprecations
threatened that if he would not inform him what he had done with it,
he should never go home alive. The doctor insisting that he had none,
the wretch shot him through the heart with as little remorse as he
would have drunk a glass of burgundy.
He next undertook a journey into Norfolk to visit his relations, but
meeting a coach near that place, in which were three gentlemen and a
lady, he rode up to it, and addressed them in his own language. The
gentlemen, however, were resolved to stand upon the defensive, and one
of them fired a blunderbuss at him, which only grazed his arm, without
doing any material injury. This put him into a violent passion, and,
after taking a hundred and fifty pounds from the company, he brutally
added, that the gentleman who fired at him should not pass unpunished,
and instantly shot him through the heart; then, cutting the reins of
the horses, he went off in search of new plunder, and declined visiting
his relations upon that occasion, lest he should have been detected.
Directing his course to London, he came up with a lady taking a
ride for the benefit of the air, attended by a single footman, and
fell upon her in a very rude manner, pulling a diamond ring from
her finger, a gold watch out of her pocket, and a purse with eighty
guineas; insulting her meanwhile with opprobrious language. Though the
lady had commanded her footman not to interfere, yet the man could
not help complimenting Cady with some well-merited appellations. The
ferocious monster, without uttering a word, saluted him with a brace of
bullets in the head, and he fell upon the spot. Cady was just about to
prosecute his journey, when two gentlemen, perceiving what he had done,
rode up to him with pistols in their hands. Cady seeing his danger,
fired at them, and shots were exchanged with the greatest rapidity,
until Cady’s horse was shot under him; and even then he struggled
with the greatest violence with the gentlemen, until his strength was
exhausted; he was then apprehended, and carried to Newgate under a
strong guard. There he remained until the assizes, without showing
the least signs of repentance, or tokens of regret. Upon his trial he
behaved with the most daring insolence, calling the judges “a huddle of
alms-women,” and treating the jury in the same manner. The crime for
which he was accused was so clearly proved, that he was sentenced to
death, and committed to the condemned hole. But this place of darkness
and horror had no effect upon his mind. He continued to roar, curse,
blaspheme, and get drunk, as he had always done. It is probable that
the hope of pardon, by the influence of some friends at court, tended
to harden him the more; but the number and enormity of his crimes
prevented James the Second from extending his royal mercy to such a
miscreant. The day of execution being come, and the cart stopping as
usual under St. Sepulchre’s wall, while the bellman rang his bell and
repeated his exhortations, instead of being moved, he began to swear
and to rail because they stopped him to hear an old puppy chatter
nonsense. At Tyburn he acted in a similar manner: without either taking
any notice of the ordinary, praying by himself, or addressing the
people, he rushed into an eternal state to suffer the just punishment
of his great and numerous offences. He died in the twenty-fifth year of
his age, in the year 1687.
PATRICK O’BRIAN.
Patrick O’Brian was a native of Ireland, and his parents were very
indigent. He came over to England, and enlisted in the Coldstream
Guards. He was, however, not so dexterous in the use of his arms as he
was in the practice of all manner of vice. Patrick was resolved not to
want money, if there was any in the country. He first ran into debt at
all the public houses and shops that would trust him; then borrowed
from every person, as long as any one could be found to believe him.
When fraud failed him, he had recourse to force. Doctor Clewer, rector
of Croydon, was the first whom he attacked. This man had been, in his
youth, tried at the Old Bailey, and burned in the hand, for stealing a
silver cup. Alluding to this, Patrick said, that “he could not refuse
lending a little assistance to one of his old profession.” The doctor
assured him that “he had not made a word, if he had had any money
about him; but he had not so much as a single farthing.” “Then,” said
Patrick, “I must have your gown, sir.” “If you can win it,” cried the
doctor, “you shall; but let me have the chance of a game of cards.” To
this O’Brian consented; and the doctor pulling out a pack of cards,
they commenced. Patrick was victorious, and obtained the black gown.
One day, Patrick attacked a famous posture-master, and commanded him to
“stand and deliver!” The latter instantly jumped over his head, which
led Patrick to suppose that it was the devil come to sport with him
before his time. By this display of his agility the harlequin escaped
with his money, and had the good fortune never to afford to O’Brian an
opportunity to be revenged of him for his fright.
Our adventurer at last commenced highwayman. For this purpose he
purchased a horse and other necessaries, and began in due form. He one
day met with the celebrated Nell Gwynne in her coach, and addressed
her, saying: “Madam, I am a gentleman; I have done a great many signal
services to the fair sex, and have, in return, been all my life
maintained by them. Now, as I know that you are a charitable woman, I
make bold to ask you for a little money, though I never had the honor
of serving you in particular. However, if any opportunity shall ever
fall in my way, you may depend upon it I will not be ungrateful.” Nell
made him a present of ten guineas, and he went off in quest of more
plunder.
It was with O’Brian as with every other wicked man: he was solicitous
to lead others to the same line of conduct. In particular, he seduced
a young man, of the name of Wilt, who was apprehended, and suffered
for his first offence. O’Brian was also apprehended, and executed at
Gloucester; and when he had hung the usual time, his body was cut down,
and given to his friends; but when carried home, he was observed to
move, on which a surgeon was immediately sent for, who bled him; and
other means being used, he recovered life. This fact was kept a secret,
and it was hoped that it would have had a salutary effect upon his
future conduct. His friends were very willing to contribute towards his
support, in order that he might live in the most retired manner, and
O’Brian engaged to reform his life, and for some time kept his promise;
but the impressions of death, and all its tremendous consequences, soon
wearing off his mind, he returned to his vicious courses. Abandoning
his friends, and purchasing a horse and other necessaries, O’Brian
again visited the road.
In about a year after his execution he met the very gentleman who
was his former prosecutor, and attacked him in the same manner as
before. The gentleman was surprised to see himself stopped by the very
same person who had formerly robbed him, and who was executed for
that crime. His consternation was so great that he could not avoid
exhibiting it, and he addressed O’Brian, saying, “How comes this to
pass? I thought that you had been hanged a twelvemonth ago.” “So I
was, and therefore you ought to imagine that what you now see is only
my ghost. However, lest you should be so uncivil as to hang my ghost
too, I think it my best way to secure you.” Upon this, he discharged a
pistol through the gentleman’s head, and, alighting from his horse, cut
his body in pieces with his hanger.
One barbarity was followed by a greater. O’Brian, accompanied by four
others, attacked the house of Launcelot Wilmot, Esq. of Wiltshire;
entered, and bound all the servants; then went up to the gentleman’s
own room, and bound him and his wife. They next proceeded to the
daughter’s chamber, whom they stabbed to the heart, and having
returned, in the same manner butchered the old people, and rifled the
house to the value of two thousand five hundred pounds.
This miscreant continued his depredations two years longer, until one
of his accomplices confessed his crime, and informed upon all who were
concerned. Our adventurer was seized at his lodgings at Little Suffolk
street, and conveyed to Salisbury, where he acknowledged the crime. He
was a second time executed, and, to prevent another resuscitation, was
hung in chains, near the place where the crime was perpetrated, on the
30th of April, 1689.
THOMAS RUMBOLD.
Rumbold was the son of honest and industrious parents, who lived at
Ipswich, in Suffolk. In his youth he was apprenticed to a bricklayer;
but evil inclinations gaining an ascendancy over his mind, he quitted
his employment before a third part of his time was expired. In order to
support himself after having absconded, and conceiving a great desire
to see London, he repaired thither, and soon confederated himself with
a gang of robbers. In conjunction with these he shared in many daring
exploits; but wishing to try his skill and fortune alone, he left them,
and repaired to the road.
He travelled from London with the intention of waylaying the archbishop
of Canterbury. Having got sight of the party between Rochester and
Sittingbourne in Kent, he got into a field, and placing a tablecloth on
the grass, on which he placed several handfuls of gold and silver, took
a box and dice out of his pocket, and commenced a game at hazard by
himself. His grace observing him in this situation, sent a servant to
inquire the meaning; who upon coming near Rumbold, heard him swearing
and rioting about his losses, but never paid the least attention to his
questions. The servant returned and informed the prelate, who alighted,
and seeing none but Rumbold, asked him whom he was playing with.
“Pray, sir,” said Rumbold, “be silent--five hundred pounds lost in a
jiffey!” His grace was about to speak again--“Ay,” continued Rumbold,
continuing to play on, “there goes a hundred more!” “Pr’ythee,” said
the archbishop, “do tell me whom you play with.” Rumbold replied, “With
----,” naming some one who perhaps never had existence. “And how will
you send the money to him?” “By his ambassadors,” quoth Rumbold; “and,
considering your grace as one of them extraordinary, I shall beg the
favor of you to carry it to him.” He accordingly rose and rode up to
the carriage, and, placing in the seat about six hundred pounds, rode
off. He proceeded on the road he knew the archbishop had to travel, and
both, having refreshed at Sittingbourne, again took the road, Rumbold
preceding the bishop by a little distance. He waited at a convenient
place, and again seared himself on the grass in the same manner as
before, only having very little money on the cloth. The bishop again
observed him, and now believing him really to be a mad gamester, walked
up to him, and just as his grace was going to accost him, Rumbold cried
out with great seeming joy, “Six hundred pounds!” “What!” said the
archbishop, “losing again?” “No, by G--!” replied Rumbold, “won six
hundred pounds! I’ll play this hand out, and then leave off while I’m
well.” “And of whom have you won them?” said his grace. “Of the same
person that I left the six hundred pounds for with you before dinner.”
“And how will you get your winnings?” “Of his ambassador, to be sure,”
said Rumbold; so, presenting his pistol and drawn sword, he rode up
to the carriage, and took from the seat his own money, and fourteen
hundred pounds besides, with which he got clear off.
With part of this money Rumbold bought himself an eligible situation;
but still he could not give up his propensity of appropriating to
himself the purses of others. For many miles round London he had the
waiters and chambermaids of the inns enlisted into his service; and
though, to appearance, in an honest way of gaining a livelihood,
he continued his nefarious courses to a great extent. He was not,
indeed, always successful; but, having once been apprized of two rich
travellers being at an inn where one of his assistants was, he left
London immediately, and waited on the road which he had been informed
the travellers were to take: long, however, he might have waited, for
the travellers were too cunning, and pretended to be travelling to the
place which they had last left. Determined, however, not to return
without doing some business, he waited on the road: the earl of Oxford,
attended by a single footman, soon appeared, and, being known to his
lordship, he disguised himself by throwing his long hair over his face,
and holding it with his teeth. In this clumsy mask he rode up, demanded
his lordship’s purse, and threatened to shoot both the servant and
him if they made the least resistance. Expostulations were vain, and
he proceeded to rifle the earl, in whose coat and waistcoat he found
nothing but dice and cards, and was much enraged, till, feeling the
other pockets, he discovered a nest of goldfinches,[2] with which he
was mightily pleased, and said he would take them home and cage them:
recommending his lordship to return to his regiment and attend to his
duty, giving him a shilling as an encouragement.
As Rumbold was riding along the road, he met a country girl with a
milkpail on her head, with whose beauty and symmetry of shape he was
greatly taken. Having entered into conversation, Rumbold alighted,
and, excusing himself for the freedom, sat beside her while she milked
her cows. Pleased with each other’s company, they made an assignation
the same evening: our adventurer was to come to her father’s house
at a late hour, and, pretending to have lost his road, solicit a
night’s lodging. The plan was accordingly followed out: but they were
disappointed in each other’s society that evening, for some one of
the family kept astir all night. Determined, however, not to leave
his fair convert, he pretended in the morning to be taken dangerously
ill, and the good farmer rode off immediately for medical assistance.
All the power of surgery, however, could not discover his ailment.
The farmer kindly insisted upon his remaining where he was until he
should recover, to which he, with great professions of gratitude,
assented. Completely overpowered by such generosity, Rumbold wished
to make some apparent return; and, borrowing a name, told him he was
a bachelor of property in a certain county; that he had hitherto
remained secure against the attacks of beauty, but that he now was
vanquished by the attractions of his daughter, and hoped, if the girl
had no objection, that a proposal of marriage would not be unacceptable
to the family. The farmer, in his turn, overcome by such a mark of
condescension, expressed himself highly gratified by the proposal; and,
upon communicating it to the family, all were agreeable, and none more
so than the girl. The idea of adding gentility to the fortune which
the farmer intended for his daughter, quite elated him, and made him
extremely anxious to gain the favor of the suitor. Rumbold followed
out the design, and his endearments with the daughter were thus more
frequent than he expected. His principal design was to sift the girl
as to the quantity of money her father had in the house, and where it
lay; but he was chagrined when informed that there were only a few
pounds; for that, a few days before they met, her father had made a
great purchase, which took all his ready money. Seeing, now, that there
was no chance of gleaning the father’s harvest, he resolved to leave
the family, and, accordingly, one evening took his march incognito,
leaving the girl a present of twenty pieces of gold, inclosed in a copy
of verses.